dance, dance
by bleuboxes
Summary: "You know," he says, interrupting the movie, "you're much better at kissing than dancing." [back at it again with another au]
Perhaps, in time she'll be able to forgive Sola for taking her out to this god forsaken club, but as of right now, she wishes her sister would just take her home. It's dark and crowded and she feels like a piece of meat in the (pretty) skimpy blue dress she borrowed from her sister. Sure, she might look gorgeous, but she doesn't feel like herself. (Padmé gives all her regards to the women who can feel confident in dresses such as the one she's wearing, because she's having a hard enough time standing in it, let alone dancing.)

Sola promised her that this would be a fun night out – full of dancing and drinking and god only knows what (her sister had even suggested she might meet someone; Padmé thought that was utterly preposterous but she agreed to come anyway), but she felt miserable. She doesn't like feeling exposed, and she has no motivation to embarrass herself, so she refuses to dance (she is fairly good at waltzing, but this is hardly the place for that.

She'd much rather be at home curled up in her favorite chair, some mellow rock playing in the background while she reads a nice wordy book (in particular, something by Dickens) instead of this place.

She reluctantly makes her way over to the bar, sitting at the far end in hopes of avoiding any unwanted attention so that she can sit in peace (although, this place is quite the opposite of peaceful; it's loud and chaotic and frantic and everything Padmé usually goes out of her way to avoid.)

When the bartender journeys over to where she's sitting, she orders a vodka and cranberry. To her most pleasant surprise, he returns quickly with it. She's not usually one to drink, but she doesn't think she's going to be able to survive the evening without any alcohol in her system. She carefully nurses her drink, making small talk with the bartender as he makes his rounds, it's not until she's just about half way done with her second drink that someone sits beside her. It's a young woman, with beautiful ebony skin which contrasts nicely with her vibrant blue hair. She orders some sort of fancy drink (much too fancy for Padmé's liking, anyway) and sighs in Padmé's direction.

"You alright?" the woman asks; Padmé is surprised. She wasn't expecting the woman to engage in conversation with her. But, she does appreciate the concern.

"Yeah, you know, I'm just out of my element. I'd much rather be at home lounging on the couch, but I was dragged out of my apartment by my sister on account of my ever so lacking social interactions." The other girl laughs, pushing her hair out of her face before taking a sip of her just delivered drink.

"Well, you sure look nervous; I wouldn't go as far as saying out of place – you look like a fucking queen." Padmé flushes, she hasn't received a compliment like that in years, and it's nice; she appreciates the efforts of this other girl to cheer her up.

"Thank you," she smiles before continuing, "I guess I just feel exposed; I've never really been much into this sort of scene; and people usually don't look at me like this. I'm used to intimidating people – this is completely foreign to me." Beside her, the woman nods in agreement or understanding, Padmé isn't sure. Either way, she's happy that someone relates to how she's feeling (much unlike her sister).

"That's why you gotta make them fear you – you have to own it, make it yours. They're scared of that – a powerful woman. And well, the ones that refuse to treat you with the respect you deserve, you kick their asses into next year." She pauses, "You know, when I'm done with this," she motions towards her drink, "I'm dragging you out there to dance with me."

"No! _No, no!"_ She stutters frantically, "I don't dance – well hardly dance. Either way, I have two left feet."

"I highly doubt that."

"Who are you to doubt in my extraordinary bad dancing abilities, hmm?" Padmé questions humorously.

"Ahsoka Tano – mechanic extraordinaire and your new dancing friend." She extends her hand.

"Padmé Naberrie," she grins, "If you plan on being blown away by some terrible dance skills, you have come to the right place.

* * *

"This sounds fake, but please, by all means, continue." Anakin dismisses his apprentice. She's always meddling, and while he knows that she has good intentions, he likes his life how it is (for the most part.) Ahsoka groans in annoyance.

"Why would I even make this up? She's literally just as bad at dancing as you are, and that's saying something."

"Get back to work, Snips."

While he considers her point, he has no intention of believing any of her adventures with Padmé Naberrie, the acclaimed hot, badass nerd girl whom Ahsoka has spent the last few months (fucking shit up) with. Besides, it's not like anyone can really be that bad at dancing (or own so many pastel colored clothes, from what he's heard from his apprentice, she owns enough for a small army.)

He goes back to work as Ahsoka continues to blabber on about her friend. He's well aware of the fact that she's trying to stimulate and interest in at least meeting the girl (who Ahsoka is almost certainly making up).

Even though it pains him to admit it, she's doing a very good job at keeping him infatuated with her stories (a skill she learned from Obi-Wan, Anakin's employer and close friend) about the political science major that is only good at waltzing and wears only flower prints and pastels (except when she's forced out of her apartment to go clubbing, because, then apparently, she borrows her sister's dresses.)

If anything, Anakin believes she's simply too good to be true.

* * *

"Ahsoka, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" she mutters into her phone while on her way to the car garage where her friend works, "I mean, I don't want him to hate me – or you; are you positive he seemed interested, because from what you've told me, I don't think he likes me very much." She rambles. She hears Ahsoka laugh on the other side of the line.

"Anakin always acts like he couldn't give less of a shit when I talk to him, which means that he either doesn't care or is very much in fact curious about you, and I believe it is that latter in this case." Ahsoka asserts, Padmé lets out a shaky breath.

"Whatever you say, but if this goes south, I'm making you pay for the cost of my oil change."

"C'mon, Padmé, have I ever steered you wrong before?" Ahsoka pauses thoughtfully, "you know what, don't answer that."

"You're a menace."

"Don't you forget it. I gotta go before Skyguy comes in and skins me alive for slacking on the job. See you soon!" She hangs up before Padmé even gets the chance to bid her farewell.

Despite the (sort of) reassurance give to her by Ahsoka about the situation, she still feels apprehensive. From what Ahsoka has said, Anakin seems wonderful (and apparently he's not too awful to look at). She hopes that he's as kind and witty and hard working as he's put out to be, because she's not sure how she'll feel if he's rude and self-centered behind an exceptionally well crafted gentlemanly persona (like the asshole Rush Clovis, who left her with a cold and cynical outlook towards relationships, both platonic and romantic.)

Perhaps she needs to stop focusing on what has happened to her, and think about what is going to happen to her. Anakin seems nothing at all like her ex, and she doesn't think Ahsoka would ever intentionally harm her. (Padmé has grown quite fond of her younger friend over the past recent months and finds that Ahsoka's heart always seems to be in the right place.)

As she pulls into the lot, she takes a deep breath before parking the car and exiting. She's here for an oil change (half price, thanks to Ahsoka) and he _isn't_ Rush Clovis. Taking one more deep breath, she makes her way towards the entrance to the office, clutching her purse.

When she enters, she's surprised when Ahsoka bombards her with welcomes (not that she would expect anything less). She's being very, very loud, which is probably deliberate, but it makes Padmé uncomfortable nonetheless. She's about to tell Ahsoka to stop screaming in her ear when someone comes storming through the door that connects this room to the car garage (Ahsoka lets her out of the embrace, thank the lord.)

"Can you _kindly_ shut the fuck up, Snips? Some of are trying to work and your screaming is making it nearly impossible to concentrate." Ahsoka simply turns him the other cheek, speaking to Padmé instead as he stands still and brooding.

"Don't mind Anakin; he gets grumpy when he's hungry." He replies with some sort of sassy retort, but Padmé isn't listening – she's much too absorbed with looking at the young man in front of her.

Ahsoka wasn't wrong when she said he wasn't bad on the eyes.

She can't think of another word to describe him than beautiful, and she feels that even that word doesn't do him justice. His face is littered with splotches of grease an oil and god knows what, and his eyes ( _goodness gracious_ , his eyes) are the most vibrant blue she's ever seen. His wavy hair is a sandy blonde color and, she really has the urge to run her fingers through it. He's tall and muscular and, shit, just everything about him makes her wish she had never doubted her friend in the first place.

"Ahsoka, for god's sake, stop harassing the poor woman."

"She's fine," Padmé butts in, "Just saying hello, although she did nearly crush me which was _not_ _appreciated_ by the way." He looks at her, his face scrunches up as if he's thinking, and she feels her cheeks redden slightly.

"Oh – this is my friend Padmé Naberrie." Ahsoka introduces.

"The one that can't dance?" he asks. Padme sighs, exasperated.

"How many people have you told about that?"

"You know, just a few."

"That's not reassuring."

"It wasn't intended to be." Ahsoka says cheekily. Anakin has an amused expression on his face, clearly finding their exchange humorous.

"Why do I even bother?" she mutters to herself; he lets out an amused laugh. Ignoring him (or at least trying her best to ignore him), she asks Ahsoka if she wanted to put her car in the garage. (The blue haired girl was all too happy to oblige and left with a flick of her hair and a wink.)

Padmé makes her way over to the chairs near the opposite wall and sits down; she takes _The Hobbit_ out of her purse and begins to read it (she's read it many times before but she finds that the fantasy within its pages never gets old.) He is still looking at her, but she doesn't pay much attention to him until half an hour has passed and he's _still_ standing there watch her read the book. (Ahsoka failed to mention he was coherently obvious.)

"Could you please stop staring at me," she mutters softly, "it's making me quite uncomfortable." He looks like a doe caught in headlights.

"Sorry." His hand moves towards the back of his head, "It's just I didn't really believe you were actually real."

"And why's that?" she wonders aloud.

"Ahsoka has a way of making stories larger than life, and quite frankly, the pastel clad political science major who's a worse dancer than me seemed like a bit of a stretch." She laughs; he smiles and she swears her heart melts a bit.

"I can assure you that I am very real, but I doubt that you're worse dancer than me."

"Is that a challenge, Miss Naberrie?" he inquires with a raised brow.

"Quite possibly. Ahsoka is forcing me out of my apartment tomorrow if you would maybe like to join us." Smiling even brighter (if even at all possible), he quickly agrees to join them.

They chat a bit more before Ahsoka comes in complaining about how nobody helps her out anymore (they both seem to know it's all an act, and that seems to make it ten times funnier). She leaves not soon after; she hasn't felt happy in a long while.

* * *

"Believe me now, Skyguy?" Ahsoka quips with sly smile.

"You said she was hot, but, _damn it_ , Ahsoka, you completely failed to mention she was beautiful."

(Ahsoka squeals loudly; perhaps plan 'get Anakin a girlfriend so that he can actually start to accumulate friends that aren't scum bags' is a go.)

* * *

She, Anakin, and Ahsoka have went out plenty of times since them, but three months later Ahsoka bails out on their planned movie night at Padmé's apartment. She's curled up in her favorite couch watching _Guardians of the Galaxy_ with Anakin Skywalker sitting just an arm's length away. He doesn't even seem to be paying close attention to the movie; he keeps shooting glances her way in between shifting his attention from the television to his phone.

She wants to move closer to him, so that she can watch the movie in peace (he must not realize that he's killing her with his little not-so-stolen glances), and before she can comprehend what she's doing, she positions herself so that she's curled up in his side. His body becomes rigid for a second before she scoots even closer (if that's even possible, either way, his chest makes a very nice pillow) and he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"You're killing me, Padmé." He murmurs quietly, kissing the top of her head. Maybe it's his previous action, or the steady thump of his heart in her ear (or quite possibly her own audaciousness) but she moves herself once more so that she's able to push herself up to his face so that she can kiss him.

It's not the most comfortable position, but she really doesn't care. He's gentle and caring in the way he's kissing her; she just can't stop smiling. Her joy is apparently infectious, because not two minutes later, they're both in a heaping pile of giggles and smiles and kisses. (And she swears she's never been this happy before.)

She repositions herself once more so that she's lying comfortably against his chest, watching the movie with a new found contentment.

"You know," he says, interrupting the movie, "you're much better at kissing than dancing."

"Oh my god," she groans closing her eyes, "I thought we had established that you were worse than me." She can feel the rumble of his laugh in his chest.

"That just means we both suck at it."

"Just shut up and watch the movie, Anakin." She mumbles. He kisses her head one again and starts stroking her hair.

"Whatever you say, angel."

She's too lazy to even ask where he pulled angel from, and a tiny part of her likes the endearment, so she lets it go as she drifts off to sleep.

(Needless to say, Ahsoka won't shut up about how she was the one that set the both of them up. Sola is just as excited that Padme's willing to at least have someone to share her couch with.)

* * *

 **I haven't had any time to write and I did this in a good five hours so please forgive any unnoticed mistakes. (Also pls forgive me I've never been clubbing before so if this seems vastly unrealistic I am sorry frens.)**

 **Anyway ur (fairly) local anidala trash strikes again with yet another au (bc there aren't enough of them, honestly).**

 **Also I'm a slut for Ahsoka/Padmé friendship so fight me (actually pls don't u'll probably hurt my feelings and I may not write again)**

 **Anyway, reviews are the suit to my Vader so pls do that or I might die and that would not be good. Also feel free to favorite or follow bc u never know I could write more for this trash heap.**

 **Thanks for reading, and please feel free to check out some of my other star wars stories!**

 **Have a great day/evening everyone!**

 **(also the title is from a fall out boy song rip)**

 **bleuboxes**


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